


Side Effects May Include...

by FlitShadowflame



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Gen, Harry being telepathic is cheating, M/M, Marcone has a thing for Harry that he hides very well when Harry is NOT telepathic, but it also gets Marcone somewhere so he supposes he shouldn't complain, harry playing with potions, potion-induced telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlitShadowflame/pseuds/FlitShadowflame
Summary: Kink meme fill. Harry gets some temporary telepathic powers and uses them to his advantage. Marcone is not sure he approves.(Yet).
Relationships: implied potential future Marcone/Dresden
Comments: 12
Kudos: 254





	Side Effects May Include...

Making potions is a beautiful, imprecise art that I practice as often as possible. I try to make things I can use, but sometimes I just want to play with new ingredients, to see what they'll do. This was a bit of the first and a lot of the second. I _might_ have a use for what I was tentatively calling "hyper-perceptiveness potion." Bob swore it had come in handy for him repeatedly.

I wasn't too sure about that, but I'd gotten a few nice, wafer-thin pieces of tiger-eye lately and I wanted to put on to work.

"All right, what's my base?" I asked.

"Absinthe," Bob answered flatly.

"...be serious."

"I am!"

"I want to notice what's there, not hallucinate." I rolled my eyes. "Wouldn't coffee work better?"

"Alcohol lowers inhibitions - including how you process and block out perceptions. Amphetamines would be ideal, but - "

" _No_!" I yelled. "A legal consumable, please!"

"Fine. Ginger tea, then."

"That's more like it. Taste?" I moved to the burner to make tea.

"A subtle dark chocolate. And please try to resist your urge to use cheap substitutes."

"Fine, fine." I rummaged through my stores of ingredients. "Aha!" Some Ghirardelli dark chocolate. If I remembered correctly, it had a faintly woody taste. "Smell?"

"Almonds. You want subtle here - the idea is the potion will raise you awareness until these sensations are as obvious to you as a scream."

Almond scent I could handle easily. I picked it out. "Sight?"

"That's the tiger-eye; its magical properties include enhancing the ability to scry. Touch should be smooth plastic." I found a disk I'd collected at some point. Bob made an unimpressed noise.

"Oh, bite me. Sound?"

"Someone calling your name softly. To get attention, you know."

Murphy's bottled voice went into the potion. "Mind?"

"What kinds of thoughts intrigue you the most?" he asked.

"...I thought you knew how to make this potion?"

"Obviously it has to be customized to the user. Look, if it's sex I'm hardly going to judge."

"It's not sex!" I yelled at him. To think, I thought making potions with Bob would be relaxing. "Mysteries. Uncertainty."

"A murder-mystery book, then. I'll even sacrifice one of my collection, it's called _Graveyard Shift_."

"That's a romance, Bob," I rolled my eyes.

"With a very well-developed murder-mystery subplot!" he defended his choice.

"All right, all right." I tossed the book in. "And spirit?"

"What makes you stand up and pay attention?"

"That's the same as mind, isn't it?"

"No, mysteries are what you think about. What do you react to, Boss?" His eye sockets glowed.

"Beautiful women," I said wryly.

"Damsels in distress with legs that go on forever. Hm. How about some _Playboy_ for the spirit?"

"That's ridiculous. I thought this was supposed to be subtle."

"Fine. What raises your spirit, Boss?"

"Magic," I said honestly. "Potions. Love...?"

"What do you associate with magic? Something you use as a common ingredient with potions maybe...no, magical fire. That's a bit more like you."

"But it's pure magic...fire can be a potions component?"

Bob laughed. "This is theoretical potions, Harry! Let's find out!"

I tried not to overdo it. I'd need magic and emotion to activate the potion, anyway. Just a little firepuff, no bigger than the palm of my hand...it ignited the surface of the potion, but it burned out quickly. I hurried to infuse it with power.

"Looks good. Are you going to try it now?" Bob asked eagerly.

"Maybe I should have someone around to make sure nothing goes wrong," I said, uncertain. Using magic as an ingredient and a catalyst was interesting, but it could be dangerous. I would have liked another wizard around when I tested this...or at least, Michael.

"Come on, it's almost identical to the ones I've constructed for countless previous owners. Just drink it."

It could be interesting. And I hated taking untested potions when I was in danger - unexpected side-effects could get me in a lot of trouble.

I drank it. As usual, it tasted like the worst combination of its potential flavors - burnt plastic, watery chocolate, bitter ginger tea, pulpy ashes...I made a face.

"How's your hearing, Boss?" Bob asked. It was like he was yelling, but the quality of his voice told me it was more of a whisper.

"Wow," I murmured. I was too loud in my own head.

I could hear my upstairs' neighbor's heater clanking to life, my landlady shuffling around in slippers...and I could hear them talking, too, a constant monologuing cacophony.

I covered my ears. The other noises were muffled or silenced, but the words continued to swamp over me.

_What's Boss making that face for?_ chimed in the loudest.

"What face?" I groused.

_I didn't say that out loud._

I uncovered my ears, alarmed, and Bob spoke aloud this time.

"Well, looks like the murder mystery was a bad idea. Or probably using magical fire. Instead of extra-sensitive perception, or in addition to, you're getting extra- _sensory_ perception. Oops?"

"When will it end?" I grumbled. I tried to ignore the babble of thoughts.

"...eight to twelve hours," Bob said hesitantly. "Try raising your circle around you, it might block the external inputs."

"What if someone drops by?"

"If someone drops by, it isn't like you'll be in any state to entertain. But if you allow me the use of Mister I can keep an eye on the door for you," Bob said sweetly.

" _If_ the circle works," I groused. I stepped into my circle and raised it, focusing on the protections against external forces. Sound and thoughts dropped away, leaving me open to the smells I had been too distracted to notice before. My lab was full of weird odors I normally didn't mind. The ginger on my own breath was toxic.

I blocked smell next, and took in the eagle-eye images before blocking those, too. Touch hadn't bothered me much, though my clothes felt a little itchier and the floor seemed to seep cold through my slippers.

I broke the circle reluctantly. "Bob, you may take Mister and watch the door, listen to the phone...until the potion wears off or I tell you otherwise." I got a yoga mat and dragged it into my circle, went upstairs to put on my most comfortable clothes, and settle back into my circle for a cold nap on the floor. I at least pretended to meditate, though I'm not sure who I thought I was fooling.

The circle only blocked everything outside of it, so I still had to deal with my own sounds, smells, etc. I resolved to take more showers and brush my teeth more often. And shave, as soon as I actually believed the razor wouldn't feel like I was scraping off my face.

Just as I was falling asleep, Mister ran back down and Bob headbutted the circle.

"Harry!" he was yelling when I lowered my power. I winced. "Murphy is - "

"Banging on my door," I said, hearing it now. I got up reluctantly. She sounded desperate - her thoughts, I mean - and she was scared. I hustled up the stairs and got the door just as she was moving away, mentally shivering in apprehension.

"Harry, there you are!" she snapped peevishly.

She covered fear with anger, and masked her uneasiness over her reliance on me with banter and aggression. Magic frightened her - I hadn't known that. I frightened her, but she still liked and trusted me even if she wasn't sure she should trust her gut where I was concerned. It made her cagey.

These weren't conscious thoughts of hers, but I felt them in the discord between her thoughts and her actions. It made me respect her a lot more, to realize she was aware of her limitations as a "normal" mortal, aware of how underpowered she was in comparison to the things she and I fought, and still went out to fight them, never once thought she should just leave me to protect Chicago from the supernatural.

"There've been some incidents at the police station. Unexplained violence, things breaking without reason, shorter tempers..."

"Poltergeist? Interesting."

"Can you get rid of it?" Hope in thoughts and tone.

"Sure. Tomorrow. Busy today."

"Busy? Aren't those your pajamas?" she asked skeptically. "How busy could you possibly be?"

"Now isn't a good time, Murphy," I said. "I can't go out today."

"...What?"

"I made a little mistake and it has to blow over. Nothing illegal and the only harm is if I leave before the potion runs its course," I said, as vague as possible.

She frowned. "What can I do about the ghost in the meantime, then?" Her thoughts filled with the low-grade, subconscious fear again.

"Poltergeist. Not ghost. Poltergeists were never alive, they form spontaneously in places with lots of energy and emotion. Um, make everyone carry some salt and tell them not to drink so much coffee." I was already shoving her out the door. She overpowered me to keep it open.

"Dresden. Will that actually work?"

"The salt might help. As for the coffee - not all short tempers are caused by the occult." She rolled her eyes. "Murphy, I will get back to you as soon as I can, I promise."

_...He looks kinda ill...I guess I can let him off._ "Fine. Talk to you later, Dresden."

I closed the door in relief. This time I actually got an hour's sleep in my circle before Bb fetched me. It was Michael Carpenter at the door, thinking about the sorry state of my soul. I'd hardly closed it behind him again, begging off with more truth about a potion taking a turn for the surprising, when someone else was knocking.

The solicitor got a polite but forceful "No, I do not want to hear about the joys of Mormonism." He thought I was ruggedly handsome, and chastised himself so soundly that even I felt vaguely ashamed. I read about poltergeists and thought I stood a chance at more sleep when Mister ran to my circle again.

Within two hours, I had visits from my landlady (who thought more about my "proportions" than I _ever_ wanted to know), two satisfied customers depositing what would become the rent my landlady had said she was after, and two potential new customers, who I had to be polite to as I heard them speculate on how I perpetuated my fraud. I had a searing headache and at least four hours left of the potion, at Bob's estimate.

I was ready to tear my hair out when Bob told me I had yet another visitor. I considered refusing to answer when I heard Marcone's stray thoughts. Not only was he fully aware I was home, he intended to pick the lock if I didn't appear in five minutes.

Since reading John Marcone's mind wasn't an opportunity I was likely to have again, I was dressed in four, and opened the door casually when I heard the scratch of picks.

"Breaking and entering is illegal," I said patronizingly.

"If you would answer your doorbell during business hours, that wouldn't be a problem," he said, completely unrepentant. He smelled like vanilla sugar, with a hint of gunpowder.

"Today's my day off. And I was asleep. What do you want?"

_You,_ was the surprising thought I read off Marcone. _Naked and begging me for release._

I could feel my cheeks warm.

"Something amiss, Mr. Dresden? You look a touch feverish." _You look like a goddamn wet dream._

"N-no...Marcone, what the hell do you want?" I asked, voice higher than usual. Marcone hid this, whatever this was, so well I had no idea I was going to get so embarrassed by reading his thoughts.

_What I wouldn't give for you to call me John..._ "Your assistance - counsel, actually - in a small financial matter. May I come in?"

"You can. He can't," I nodded to Hendricks.

_Little prick,_ he thought, though he showed no sign of dislike outwardly. _Think you're so fucking special just because the Boss doesn't kill you when you're clearly asking for it._

"Mr. Hendricks, please wait with the car," Marcone said. I wasn't enough of a threat for him to need his bodyguard when I was around, I guess.

Hendricks moved to the car and Marcone came in, sitting on the couch with the kind of relaxed grace I could never pull off.

"Mr. Dresden, I am acquiring some suppliers in your craft." _For various purposes, not limited to their current uses._ "I'd like a more independent estimate of their worth and target consumers." He passed me a list of names. They included all the stores I shopped for spell and potion components and then some.

"What do I get out of it?" I asked, hoping to surprise him into a mistake. I don't usually invoke money around Marcone.

_Will he finally be persuaded by money? ...Probably not._

"Perhaps a discount," he suggested. "In proportion to the accuracy of your assessments."

"That's what I get later," I said agreeably. "What do I get right now, for dealing with you?"

_Kitty bites. As usual._ "What are you worth?" he asked. And how soon can I have you?

"My professional opinion is worth the store discount. My tolerance of you is worth at least five hundred dollars, considering how difficult it is for me."

_Ouch._ He showed no outward sign of hurt, though.

I resisted the urge to joke and blow off the insult. I hadn't realized I could upset Marcone in ways other than outright pissing him off.

"Do you want a drink? I can give you a preliminary report now," I said by way of apology.

He shrugged. "Just water." I picked up a few dirty mugs as I headed to the kitchen. As soon as my back was to him, I heard _The attitude is refreshing, the power is thrilling, but my God, his ass is perfect._ I dropped a mug.

"Hell's bells!" I yelped, resisting the urge to jump back. I was barefoot, and broken ceramics were on the floor.

_Is he okay?_ "Hold still," Marcone said, leaping up and squatting to collect my former coffee mug.

The mafia boss of Chicago was kneeling in front of me, cleaning my apartment. So I wouldn't hurt myself.

"You really are a gentleman," I said with a surprised laugh.

He glanced up. He has a nice smile. I don't think I've seen it before, not like this. "You have no idea," he replied blandly. _It takes all my damn control not to jump your oblivious ass._

I flushed.

_Now what brought that on, I wonder?_

The secret was too much, and hell, I thought it might get my immediate embarrassment to leave my apartment, at least. "You shouldn't think so loud," I said softly.

_He - what - shit._ "Mr. Dresden," he said stiffly, straightening up. "I was unaware that telepathy was among your talents."

"It isn't. Potion went a different direction than I expected."

"What direction did you expect?" He was thinking so fast I couldn't focus on him, or I'd lose track of our actual conversation.

"Heightened senses. Incidentally, you smell nice."

That stopped the mindstorm. _Oh..._ "How heightened?"

"I can heard Hendricks' heartbeat." He glanced to the thick, closed door, mentally gauging how far away the car was.

He moved closer. "You should step carefully." He had a handful of mug shards.

"Don't have much practice in that," I joked. "We were going to talk business," I added, walking gingerly toward the kitchen and toeing on some house slippers. I would find a broom later. "Trashcan's in here." He followed.

"Perhaps I should return when you are..."

"Less perceptive?" I smirked. "I'd like to enjoy the advantage over you."

_Over -_ he cut himself off. That was pretty impressive control. "You won't like everything you see."

"I never do," I said cheerfully.

He stared at me. "That's unusually self-aware of you to admit."

"Let's stop fooling ourselves for half a second. You want me. In lots of filthy ways. I just want to know why."

"Fishing for compliments, Mr. Dresden?" _Are you really that -_ he cut himself off again.

"That what? You have an amazing degree of control over yourself."

"Thank you," he said, no-nonsense.

I watched him expectantly. "That what, Marcone?"

_That insecure._

I looked away.

"I told you that you wouldn't like everything you saw," he said.

"I haven't exactly had a good track record with relationships."

_Elaine, last name unknown. Presumed deceased. Unconfirmed reports of Dresden's involvement._

_Various flings with women, rarely if ever culminating in sex. Suggestions of debts to various of these women, indicating Dresden places low material value on his body, to use it to repay obligations, especially monetary ones, in this way._

I turned bright red.

_Susan Rodriguez, single longest relationship, but marked by an unwillingness to progress, chiefly on Dresden's part. Shows a lack of trust. Rodriguez (reporter on supernatural phenomenon) + Dresden (constantly surrounded by strange occurrences) + inherent lack of trust from Dresden = Dresden believes she might be using him. Currently "out" following Rodriguez's rise to relative fame after the incident with the werewolves._

All this passed through his brain in an instant, but this time he let me see it, my many insecurities reduced to cool logic.

"I think everyone is trying to use me. They usually are, yourself included."

"I wanted to hire you, Mr. Dresden. That involves recompense. I'm sure you got something out of your relationship with Ms. Rodriguez, as well. But she used you for petty self-gain. I only want to utilize your abilities in protecting my - our - city. Surely that concept isn't so appalling? You try to protect Chicago with little money and few resources already. Think of it as patronage." _And if I happen to enjoy having you around for other, less innocent and altruistic reasons, you are not expected to do anything you are uninterested in._

Marcone was good at making me blush with a thought. "I'll think about it," I said. "As for the stores..." I listed the ones I frequented, why I thought they were better, and their relative values to me, including what they were useful for in general.

"Good to know," Marcone said. He had been taking notes, of course. "About the other matter..."

"I'll wait for the latest check to clear," I said, folding my fee for the service of listening to him, even if I'd heard more than he would have liked. "I need to think about this, John."

He took a sharp breath. "I had no idea you could be so manipulative, Mr. Dresden."

"I learned from the best," I grinned cheekily.

_A compliment at last?_

I had actually learned more than I wanted to know about manipulation from Justin, but Marcone had taught me to do it in practical ways, not just grand schemes...and I spent at least as much watching Marcone maneuver other people, as I noticed him manipulating _me_. So yes, I included him in that "best."

"If you like being called manipulative, I suppose it's a compliment," I smirked.

"Well, it's more charming than 'scumbag,' at least," he snorted.

"All right, it's been fun, but you should get back to work, and I'm sure you don't want me reading your mind about that." I smiled as I ushered him out.

_Still a nice smile._

I managed not to blush until he was out the door.


End file.
